


The One Where Liz is Late

by mindy_makru_tutu



Series: The One Where Liz is Late [2]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: And Lots of It, F/M, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-16
Updated: 2009-09-16
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindy_makru_tutu/pseuds/mindy_makru_tutu
Summary: Jack has some ideas about how to induce Liz's baby.





	The One Where Liz is Late

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to “Lip Service”. AU-ish for "Cooter". And idea/title stolen from the "Friends" ep, "The One Where Rachel is Late".

The first thing he does when they get back to her place, is lay her out on her bed with plenty of pillows to prop her up. Jack gets to his knees on the floor, places her feet on his shoulders and dives in. He makes her come twice more with his fingers buried in her tunnel and his mouth sucking her clit. Then he helps her down to the floor so she is kneeling on a pillow. Her cheek is mashed against the mattress, her own hands in her hair as he enters her from behind. His hands stroke down the outside of her thighs as he moves within her, groaning with pleasure.

It’s possible his memory was impaired by alcohol, or perhaps he made himself forget that this was what it was like to make love to his best friend. Because it feels overwhelming. Like nothing else ever has. The only other time they did this, he was protected from feeling her fully by a layer of latex. It was definitely good, but it was brief, and a little clumsy. He doesn’t remember her being quite so hot, so wet, so welcoming. Of course, had he remembered that, he might not have left it so long to touch her again.

He’d like to prolong the pleasure for both of them but unfortunately, because of how long and how fiercely he’s been aroused, Jack isn’t going to last. Luckily, Liz’s orgasms -- apparently never utilised in previous years -- seem to be coming all at once. So to speak. All he has to do is lift his hands to her breasts, pinch the tips firmly and they are both convulsing in twin rhythms.

* * *

The second thing he is does is call Jonathan and instruct him to arrange for a new air conditioner to be delivered to Liz’s apartment. He also orders a free-standing fan for her bedroom. When Jonathan whines into the phone, loath to do anything at all for Liz Lemon, Jack tells him sternly that he doesn’t care where he finds them at such late hour, only that he find them promptly.

Then they order spicy take-out and eat it in bed. Liz grimaces as she takes her castor oil, then shoves a mouthful of greasy noddles between her lips straight after. As they eat, she reads to him from a baby name book. They make fun of the weirder names and guess what the babies would grow up to be like. Liz seems less cranky than she has in weeks, but when he leans into her belly, jokingly talking to the child inside, the smile on her face falters slightly. It only takes her a split-second to recover.

* * *

They had great success with their first choice of position, so Jack makes sure they repeat it, this time, facing a long mirror. He even suggests they light some candles to enhance the effect. Liz looks at him like he’s cracked but he promises her it will be worth the effort. He wants her to see how beautiful she is with her generous breasts and swelled tummy. And he wants to see them together. He wants to see his own face over her shoulder, her legs spread for him, his hands on her flushed skin.

And he’s right, the image is incredibly exciting. He manages to last a little longer, move a little slower. He makes her come twice more. Her hands are clasped on the edges of the floor-length mirror, her wet forehead pressed against her own reflection when he gives her her fifth and sixth orgasm of the night.

* * *

Jack stays the night, by unspoken agreement. After Liz showers, he watches, rapt as she rubs a special cream into her belly and over her breasts. She looks tired as she pulls an over-sized t-shirt over her head, then lies down to pull up fresh pair of panties. Jack joins her in bed in his boxers. Waits for her to pick a comfortable position for herself before arranging himself to mirror her. Her eyes close over as he strokes her belly with a light touch. Now that he’s started touching it, he can’t seem to stop.

“Wanna make a wish?” she murmurs, eyes flickering open.

He smiles, confused: “What do you mean?”

“On the magic lamp,” she adds, her hand joining his: “You can’t wish for endless wishes though.”

“Oh,” he says as their hands collide, going in opposite circles: “Yes. I think I do.” He slips his hand inside the t-shirt and circumnavigates her a few more times, eyes lowered.

“So…?’ Liz prompts after a moment of his silence: “What’d you wish for?”

Jack settles into his pillow, blue eyes slumberous: “I can’t tell you that, it won’t come true.”

She snorts softly: “Fair enough,” and turns out the light.

* * *

Liz can’t sleep. Which means he can’t sleep. Her legs shift against his, bumping his shins. She wiggles up higher on her pillow, jostling the mattress. She groans, kicking the covers down the bed. Jack gets up, half-asleep. He lets out a yell as he stubs his toe, rounding the bed.

“What’re you doing? Where’re you going?” she whispers, reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp.

“I was…” he hops in place, clutching his foot: “moving the fan for you.”

“Hey, Jack?” She sits up in bed, eyes all lit-up and hopeful: “Wanna watch a movie?”

He chuckles: “Do _you_?” then moves to reposition the fan closer to her. He turns it up so that it’s blowing her hair back from her face.

Liz nods eagerly then shuts her eyes, leaning into the breeze. The increased gale means he has to borrow and stretch into one of her sweaters but she seems quite content as they settle in to watch ‘ _Mamma Mia_.’ She gave him a choice between that and a documentary on natural childbirth. Despite his aversion to sequined pantsuits and caterwauling women, he unsurprisingly chooses the former. There are certain things he just is not ready to see, not that he’s too thrilled about the alternative.

After arranging the television on Liz’s side of the bed, Jack curls up behind her: “Comfortable?” he murmurs in her ear.

She sighs. “Actually I am.”

“Good,” he says and slips a hand up to cover her breast.

She looks down at his hand then shoots a look over her shoulder at him. ”Er. You quite comfortable there?”

Jack hunkers down, leaving his hand exactly where it is. “Very.”

“Okay then.”

“Press play, Lemon.”

* * *

It may be that he’s bored by the movie, or that he’s never been an ABBA fan. Or it may that he’s in bed with a beautiful woman he loves to touch. And do other things to. That’s probably why, twenty minutes into the movie, Jack re-positions himself on the bed. His feet are behind Liz’s head, his chest brushes her ass as he removes her panties. Then he lifts her thigh and sticks his head between her legs. She peers round her belly at him, brow creased as she ruffles his hair. He runs a hand over her ass, before he starts to slither his tongue around her folds. Teasing lightly, exploring slowly.

She’s still swollen and wet, tasting of musk and salt and woman. Periodically, he shifts his head to look up at her. He likes to watch her expression dissolve into bliss, he likes to watch her eyelids go heavy and her mouth go lax. He likes seeing her head loll on the pillow and her hand clutch repeatedly at its corner. She doesn’t come like a freight train, Liz, or like other women he’s known. Some women will come like they’re in stereo, like they’re simulating something, like they’re playing a part. There is nothing disingenuous, nothing orchestrated or even exaggerated about Liz’s reactions to him.

They’re barely perceptible at first. She blooms slowly, shyly, the flush in her cheeks completely involuntary, the arching of her body unintentionally sensual. She moans only when she means it, mutters his name only towards the end. And despite this -- or perhaps because of it -- watching her, pleasuring her seems so much more natural, so much more intimate than anything he can recall.

Despite the fact, also, that she’s come more times in last few hours than she has in the last few months, her moans are no less eager and her orgasm is no less profound. After she comes down, Jack leaves his head resting on her inner thigh, her other leg flung over his ribcage. He glances at the glowing TV screen where the shameless singing and dancing continues.

“Lemon,” he says with barely a pause to let her catch her breath: “This movie is ridiculous.”

She blinks down at him, eyes druggy, fingers lazily tracing the line of his jaw.

He licks his lips and goes on lazily: “Do you honestly believe that if Dennis, Conan and…”

“Neil.”

“Right. You think if those three showed up on your doorstep on the eve of this child’s wedding you’d spontaneously burst into a superficial disco tune?”

“You’re forgetting one thing,” she slurs, a smug pout on her face: “None of them look like Pierce Brosnan.”

He hums lowly, eyes twinkling. “Ah, that outrageously handsome, slightly greying, brooding Celtic thing works for you, does it?” He grins as he takes a bit of thigh into his mouth and gives it a suck.

Her lips curve upwards. “Don’t forget, he can also sing.”

From between her legs, Jack begins to croon huskily: “ _What the world…needs now…is love, sweet love_ …” He expects her to laugh, knee him, make fun of him.

She doesn’t. She smiles wider, eyes baffled but shining and teeth nibbling her lower lip. “Don’t stop!” she whines: “Don’t stop, Jack.”

He chuckles and takes a breath. “ _It’s the only thing_ …” he half-sings, half-murmurs, one hand rubbing her ass affectionately: “ _that there’s just too little of_.”

“Not tonight there isn’t,” she quips under her breath.

He extracts himself from the soft vice of her legs, kneeling beside her bump and suggesting: “Hey. Maybe we can lure him out with song. If he has any taste at all, he’ll respond far more to the classic sounds of Burt Bacharach than to repetitive Swedish pop.”

“Yes, well. Don’t forget,” she mutters, pausing before reminding him: “he’s half Dennis. His taste might be impaired.”

Jack looks down at her for a moment, seeing the slight uncertainty she feels at mentioning the other man’s name. “He’s also half you,” he reminds her with a small smile.

She blinks up at him. “True.”

Jack clears his throat softly. “May I?”

She nods. “Sure.”

She watches him bend over her, beginning his song again, this time singing in a purposeful tone to her bulging belly. When he sings the chorus for the second time round, with a lump in her throat, Liz joins him.

* * *

In the morning, there is still no sign of Lemon junior. So they decide to have another go. Again, by silent accord, they don’t exactly discuss anything. Waking up with Liz in all her pregnant glory snuggled against him has gifted him with an impressive morning erection. And she is wet enough from the night prior that she can just climb onto him, facing his feet, and easily take him in. She lets out a sigh as she does. His hands skate up her back sleepily, under her shirt. She pulls it off herself then tips her head back so his hand can dive into her hair.

“You feel incredible,” he tells her, because he can’t recall whether he had the night before.

“You too,” she says, glancing over her shoulder but not able to meet his eyes.

She begins to post up and down on him, setting her own pace. Jack is still beneath her, hands on her back, on her ass as he watches her engulf him over and over again. The sight of him penetrating her is unbelievably arousing, as well as the lazy way she is moving over him, although he wishes he could see her face. Within minutes, she is panting his name, her back undulating and her arms hugging her belly as she starts to come.

Her orgasm is long and slow this time, and while he could easily have followed her over the brink, he pulls himself back and waits. He’s not sure how long this little tryst of theirs is meant to or is going to last. He suspects that both of them have lost sight of why they began this in the first place. But whatever this is, Jack wants it. And however long it’s meant to last, he’ll want it to be longer.

She flops down beside him carefully, one hand going to his chest. He leans in and kisses her. She doesn’t close her eyes as he does, something curious twinkling in their depths. He pulls back, looks at her, then kisses her again. Her hand skates down his chest as he moves away from her. She is on her side, so he caresses her hip briefly, silently telling her to stay where she is.

He moves down the bed where her legs are curled up close to her belly. Rising onto his knees, he lifts her top leg and enters her again. Liz twists a little so she can gaze up at him. He curls his arm around her calf as he starts to move within her. His gaze is locked with hers the whole time. He keeps his pace slow, savouring every moment, every thrust, every time her tongue comes out to pass over her top lip. He starts to repeat her name as he comes, her first name, but he still doesn’t relinquish her gaze. 

When his orgasm comes to a close, he stays where he is, embedded inside her. He replaces her leg on top of the other, still drinking her in, every curve and every breath. He doesn’t want to leave her, he wants to stay inside her. It takes Liz pulling a face and saying his name before he extracts himself from her sheath and lays down beside her.

After a few moments, she murmurs: “I think he’s awake.”

He looks over at her. She’s circling her belly with one hand, and the sight is still strangely stirring to him.

She picks up his hand, giving him a languid smile: “D’you wanna feel?”

He shifts up onto his elbow, watching as she guides his hand to her bump. She looks thoughtful as she moves his hand from one spot to another then another, until Jack scores a faint kick.

“Wow,” he breathes at the distinct flutter: “Wow, Lemon….” His eyes flick up to hers: “Is that normal? Doesn’t he like the movement or something?”

“No, no,” she replies: “the movement puts him to sleep. He doesn’t like that we’ve stopped.”

Jack smirks. “He’s not the only one.”

She whacks him with the back of her hand: “Ha-ha.” Then both her hands drop away, leaving Jack’s hand alone on her. “That,” she tells him as he feels about: “is its butt.”

“How do you know?” he asks, continuing to prod her, searching for more signs of life.

She shrugs, then reaches down to move his hand. “That’s the head.”

He cups her gently, face creased with a mixture of disbelief, wonder and unease. “That’s the head? I’m touching his head?”

“Uh huh,” she nods: “It’s weird, right?”

Jack nods back: “Very weird. Very....” He can’t find the word for what else it is.

* * *

They head out on foot in search of breakfast. Another of the recommendations from Liz’s doctor was to take a long walk. So they wander the sunny, busy New York streets at a leisurely pace, being stopped intermittently by people wishing to rub Liz and wish her luck. She smiles through most of it and doesn’t look too surprised when each of the well-wishers also congratulates Jack. Jack beams, shakes some hands and doesn’t correct anyone.

When they sit down to breakfast, he asks her suddenly: “What makes you so sure it’s a boy, anyway?”

She looks over at him and gives a shrug: “Dennis thought he saw a pee-pee the size of a third leg on the ultrasound.”

“I see,” he responds, picking up his menu: “And where did Doctor Dennis get his medical degree?”

She pulls a face: “Yeah, alright. But it’s better than calling it an ‘it’.” Taking her hopefully-inducing-labor tea out of her bag, she goes on: “Anyway, can you imagine me trying to raise a girl, Jack? I don’t even know how to be a girl myself, how am I going to teach a baby to be one?”

“Well,” he tells her breezily: “that is, of course, where I come in.”

She shoots him a lop-sided grin: “You think you’re gonna teach my daughter how to be a girl?”

“I did an okay job with you, didn’t I?” he asks, blue eyes whisking over her: “Look at you now compared to when I first met you.”

She directs a sceptical look down at herself. “Yeah. Still single. Still a mess. And knocked-up by my creepy ex-boyfriend. Quite a job you did, Jack, you must be very proud.”

“I am, rather.” He waves a vague hand at her: “Not of-- I can’t take credit for that, of course, although it’s hardly from lack of trying. I do believe, however, that I have made a significant contribution to helping you improve your life. Most importantly, you are now financially secure enough to raise this child alone, if you choose to do so.”

“I don’t see another choice available to me,” she mumbles as her eyes scan the menu.

Jack is silent a moment. Then he leans forward suddenly, sharing in a low voice: “I’d want a girl.”

Liz looks up. “What?”

“You know,” he prompts, a secretive, animated look in his eyes: “If I were the one…having a child. I’d want it to be a girl.”

She cocks her head. “Really. Why?”

He blinks. “Women adore me.”

She laughs softly: “Jack. She’d adore you even if she were a boy.” She thinks about this then shakes her head: “You know what I mean. So then, you’ve…actually thought about it? Having a family and all that?”

“A lot,” he admits: “since you--”

“Well--” she cuts him off: “That’s great.” A clouded look passes across her face before she reaches a hand over to pat his. She withdraws it before he can capture it. “I’m sure you’ll be very good at that. One day,” she tells him: “Or soon, even. I’m sure you’ll find someone to…do that with. Then, maybe, our kids can play together. Right? They can play corporations and comedy shows. Your kid can boss mine around and make fun of her shoes.”

Jack opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by the waitress coming to collect for their order. Lemon takes a good half-hour to order her breakfast, then is doted upon by the waitress for another protracted period of time. Liz smiles and nods as she’s petted, and by the time the waitress goes, the threads of their conversation have disappeared.

* * *

Liz groans loudly as she moves above him, sounding more frustrated than aroused. Sweat covers her entire body, trickling between her breasts and down her forehead despite the fan being turned on her full-blast. She seems to be needing something, searching desperately for some elusive feeling as she moves herself on his hard cock. But whatever it is, it isn’t coming. She’s isn’t. The crease between her brows is deep, her shoulders slump with exhaustion. Her eyes are closed as she mutters feverishly:

“I want….I want….I love…augh...”

Jack puts out his hands to cover her hips, his touch light and steady. It seems to bring her back to herself a little. Her eyes open, but not fully, as she gazes down at him. They’ve been at it for so long – and so much -- that it’s become a little painful, a little too intense. They’re both over-sensitised, they’re at an impasse.

“Am I too heavy?” she slurs, her belly resting against his.

“No,” he whispers, smoothing his hands over her thighs: “Stay where you are. Stay still.”

She nods, leaning back to rest her hands on his thighs. She grunts a little as she does, as Jack slips a hand between her legs and rubs her clit gently. She sucks in a sharp breath and he pulls his fingers back. When her body relaxes, he slips his hand back, this time smooths his fingers over her outer lips, spread to accommodate him. They’re soaked with her arousal, bristly with tiny black curls and puffed with blood around their joining. He strokes her, softly, occasionally using his fingernails as he starts to speak to her.

“Can I tell you something, Lemon?” he pants.

“As long as…you keep…doing that,” she pants back.

His cock is still inside her as he tells her in a broken voice: “This last day and half has been the most incredible of my life.”

She hums unintelligibly, her head resting on her own shoulder.

He goes on, his voice straining with tension and passion: “I can’t believe how good it is, touching you like this, being inside your body. Seeing you all naked and glistening and…and, and big.”

She snorts, eyes closed.

His fingers venture outside her sex to her thighs, moist and taut, spread over him. He strokes them softly as he continues: “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted this. How much I’ve wanted it. And it’s better, better than I imagined it would be. And God, did I imagine it. I used to think about it, think about you. You’d make me hard, just like I am now for you. You’d make me come, alone in my shower. Do you believe that?”

“No,” she chuckles, her head lolling over to her other shoulder: “No…”

“Well, believe this,” he murmurs, hands slipping over her hips to her ass cheeks: “I haven’t been with a woman since that night. That night we promised never to talk about. I haven’t wanted another woman since you. I love making love with you, I never want to stop making love to you.”

“God…” she groans breathily. She tries to hide her face against her own shoulder: “Please, Jack. I can’t take it…”

He steadies her on top of him. “Breathe. Just breathe. And I'll take care of you.”

“I am breathing,” she mutters, glaring at him through her lashes.

He moves one hand, swipes her clit whilst circling his hips beneath her: “God, Lemon…”

“God, Jack,” she responds, one hand swinging forward to grasp his forearm

She’s close, he can tell. He scratches her outer lips again, circles her clit again, moves his hips in a constant rhythm. He sits up suddenly, as much as he can. It changes the angle of his cock and makes her gasp. He glides his tongue up between her breasts, collecting her sweat on his tongue and she starts to come around him, her walls gripping him tight and seeking to draw him deeper than he can possibly delve.

This time, she does come like that freight train, her cries loud and long and unrestrained. And in her orgasm, she seems to find what she was looking for, the words she couldn’t utter before. She doesn’t seem conscious of herself telling him she loves him. But Jack hears it as he drops back on the bed, thrusts his hips once and comes deep inside her.

* * *

Somehow they manage to both fit into her bathtub. It’s a fairly big bath and a really tight fit. And even ‘fit’ is not quite accurate because Jack has one wet leg propped up on the rim and both Liz’s arms flop over the edges as he massages her feet. Sucking her toes makes her cringe and kick, he discovers, but he does it a few times just to make sure. Then she returns the favour by poking a little at his feet. She refuses to suck on him though. She says she only performs such an act on birthdays and -- if she really likes a guy -- maybe long weekends.

Jack immediately begins calculating how many weeks it is until the next long weekend.

* * *

He is still in the bathroom when he hears Liz call his name. The tone of her voice makes him rush out with soapsuds still clinging to his chest and a towel clutched precariously round his waist. She’s standing in the middle of her bedroom in her Chinese-print robe, a puddle at her feet. When she meets his stunned gaze, there’s a mix of trepidation, wonder and calm in her dark eyes.

“Okay…” Jack says softly. He approaches carefully, takes her hand and leads to her sit on the bed: “Okay. Alright. So. We need to get me dressed. We need to get you dressed. I’ll order my car...” He starts looking around for his phone. “And we need your things.”

Liz nods and gulps. “There’s a bag by the door.”

“Good, great.” Jack nods and gulps: “Then we go to the hospital. Right?”

She nods again: “Right. I’m ready.”

Jack looks down at her, phone at his ear, sitting so still on the bed. “You okay?”

She takes a breath: “Yeah, I think so, yeah…”

“Code Yellow,” he mutters into his phone then snaps it shut.

“You made up a code for this?” she questions, glancing up at him with one brow raised.

“Of course,” he says as he grabs his boxers and puts them on: “I wanted to be prepared.” He dresses himself quickly, eyeing her the whole time. Liz shrugs off her robe, picks up her bra from the end of the bed and slowly snaps it on herself. He’s never seen her move so slowly, so purposefully.

“Jack?” she murmurs from her place on the bed.

He strains to keep his voice as calm. “Yes?”

“You’re coming, right?” she asks as she watches him rush about the room grabbing things: “With me, I mean?”

“Of course, Lemon, of course.” He finds the white dress she wore into his office just days before and helps her on with it.

“Good,” she murmurs as her head pops through, hair still wet from their bath: “‘cause I thought I could do this alone. But…I’m not so sure now.”

“Oh.” He hesitates, glancing at her worriedly: “You mean come with you…in the-- in the thing, with the--?”

“You don’t have to,” she rushes to assure him: “I know it’s a lot--”

“No.” He shakes his head, hands finding both her shoulders: “No, I said I would be there and…I will be there.”

Her eyes search his face. “Are you sure? Really?”

“Absolutely. I want to be there.” He starts to move away again.

“Jack! Jack -- wait, wait…” She clutches at his shirt with both hands, drawing him back down to her: “There’s something else.”  
  
“What?” He peers at her anxiously: ”What is it?”

She blinks then shakes her head, seeming to change her mind. “No, nothing…” But when he starts to move away again, she yanks him back by his shirt. “No. There is something,” she murmurs, her voice suddenly more urgent: “I have to tell you. I should’ve told you. I – the thing is, I love you. Jack. I love you. So.”

He nods again, distracted: “I love you too, Lemon.”

She huffs at him. “Seriously, you need to stop calling me that after everything you’ve done to me. _And_ are about to see.”

“Fine,” he amends hurriedly: “I love you -- _Liz_.”

“Yes, but, no, but--” She pulls a frustrated face, her grip tightening on his shirt. “I really, really love you. like…am fully _in_ love with you, Jack.” Her voice trails off towards the end of her blurted sentence, her face wincing in uncertainty. “Hell of a time to spring it on you, I know,” she adds quietly: “I just--”

“Liz.” Jack releases a breath, squatting down in front of her then taking her hands in his. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“You’re not dumb.” She frowns and adds: “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replies. “And I would have to be pretty foolish to let you get away from me twice. Now wouldn’t I?”

She tips her head to one side, admitting with a hint of her usual humor: “Yeah, you would.”

“So.” Jack smiles and, while he’s on the floor, he grabs her flip-flops and slips them onto her feet: “What d’you say we go have this baby, and we sort out all the rest afterwards?”

“I don’t think I really have a choice, do I?” she mutters.

“I’m afraid not,” he smiles, bringing her to her feet: “Ready or not, Lemon. Baby Lemon says today is the day.”

She shrugs: “I s’pose it’s about time.”

He leans in to kiss her, a kiss so imbued with meaning that it renders them both a little breathless. One arm is around her shoulders. His other palm spread over her bump. Liz’s fingers graze his unshaven jaw with a tender touch. But in an instant, her whole body seems to tense and recoil. She breaks the kiss with a groan.

“Okay. We need to go,” she breathes: “Like, now. This kid is impatient.”

Jack grins as he guides her out, one arm still about her. “Somewhat like his or her mother.”

“Really, dude?” Liz grimaces, watching him grab the bag at the door. “You’re gonna start with me now?”

The last thing Jack does as they leave her apartment is make himself a strict mental note to think very carefully before speaking. He plans to stick to it too -- for the next…however long it takes. Minutes after, he and Liz are in his car, heading for the hospital as fast as the New York traffic will allow.

_END._


End file.
